The Boy Who Cried Death
by MostMediocreWriter
Summary: You should never joke about killing yourself. After all, if you're ever serious about it, who'll be left to stop you? WARNING: suicide, self-harm, and profanity use (chapter 1/4 is up)


Sorry I haven't written anything in practically forever, I've really lacked motivation. I'm at that endless stage where all I think about is writing, but I never feel like anything I write is ever good enough. Anyways, I thought of this story a little while back… It should end up being 4 chapters total. **WARNING- profanity usage, self-harm, and suicide DISCLAIMER- Hetalia belongs to Himaruya.**

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Sometimes Matthew seriously worried about his brother. Worry was just one among a plethora of other emotions, including but not limited to affection, annoyance, distrust, envy, and love. So, basically, the normal feelings that come with having a brother. Alfred probably didn't think he sparked such mixed emotions in his twin, which was exactly the problem: Alfred never thinks! He doesn't think about what he says, or does, or eats; seriously, you could insert any possible action here, and the odds are that Alfred wouldn't give it a second thought (maybe because he wouldn't give it a _first_ thought to begin with).

Matthew had always known this about his brother, but it had never really come to the forefront of his mind until earlier that day when Alfred's thoughtlessness had left him nearly dead with fear, and afterwards, seething with rage.

Matthew had been making pancakes, which wasn't so much a tradition rather than an addiction. Ironically, he had forgotten about Al, who had disappeared hours ago. So as he hummed quietly, alone in the kitchen, the sweet smell of cooking pancake batter wafting through the air, he was quite startled when he heard a gunshot coming from upstairs. Actually, startled is kind of an understatement as Matthew was in the middle of flipping a pancake, and somehow managed to flip it onto his face when the shot rang out. He was mentally debating whether or not to call the police, when he remembered it was his brother upstairs, not an intruder. Suddenly, Matthew was furious; after all, Al had succeeded in shooting something upstairs and slapping his twin with a pancake simultaneously.

But then anger turned to fear.

 _Why did Alfred shoot a gun?_

Pancakes forgotten, Matthew scrambled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, or rather, he tripped up the stairs since Kuma-whatshisname had decided to take a nap right there about halfway up. He ran across the top floor, skidding to a stop just in time to avoid body slamming the door to his brother's room. He started to reach for the doorknob, but paused when he heard Al muttering to himself from inside the room.

"Stupid gun…I'll end up killing myself by accident before I ever get the job done!'

Matthew's eyes widened, before he frantically threw open the door, freezing in abject horror because of what he saw.

Alfred was pointing a pistol at his own head, the barrel aimed at the space above his nose and between his eyes. Matthew began to tremble violently before he lunged forwards and ripped the gun from his twin's hand. All movement in the room stopped, except for Matthew's eyes, which scanned the room, glaring back and forth from Al to the bullet hole that had torn through the bed's mattress right next to his foot.

All of the sudden, Al exclaimed,

"What the hell, man?"

"What the—what the hell?! What do you mean 'what the hell'?! What did you think you were doing?! No, I'll tell you what you were doing, eh! You were being idiotic and reckless, as usual!"

Despite his feelings of bewilderedness, Alfred didn't dare to stop his brother's rant—angry Canadians are scary, but enraged Canadians are terrifying.

"And you know what I think? I think that you're incredibly selfish! I mean, not only did you try to kill yourself, to take away my ONLY brother FOREVER, you didn't even say goodbye!"

Tears had crept into Matthew's violet eyes, and few escaping to make glistening tracks down his face that he irritatedly wiped away with his hand. A sob occasionally interrupted his indignant I-saved-your-life-jackass-aren't-you-glad-I'm-your-brother speech.

"A-and why would you even try to do this? Aren't you happy? Do you really hate me this much? You hate your life so much that you'd commit suicide a-and abandon tour twin?!"

"Um, Mattie?" Alfred tried now that his brother seemed to be transitioning from anger to grief. Apparently, Matthew _hadn't_ run out of rage just yet, because at the sound of Al's voice his nostrils flared and his rant began anew.

"What is your problem, dumbass? If I hadn't come up here and stopped you, you would be dead, eh! Dead, bled out, shot through the head, dead!" He flung the gun across the room, before sighing and massaging his temples.

"Al…" His voice cracked. "Why?" He left the question, and its implication, all in that single miserable little word.

"Maatttie," Alfred said, drawing out the word cautiously, as if talking to a toddler.

"Yeah?" Exasperation was evident in his voice.

"I was just fixing the gun."

"…"

Americans claim that their country is the home of the free and the brave, but Matthew was convinced that it's actually the home of the reckless and immature, as it's the only place in the entire world where you could find someone stupid enough to look down the barrel of a loaded gun while trying to fix it. And while Matthew was extremely relieved that his twin wasn't suicidal, that relief was totally overwhelmed by how extremely pissed off he was. Even after everything was explained, he still hid Al's pistol just in case his brother decided he knew how to "fix it" again. Underneath all his anger towards his idiotic brother, Matthew was still admittedly astounded as to Alfred's ridiculous thoughtlessness. He couldn't comprehend how his stupid, adorable twin brother could make him feel twenty emotions all at once. Hate, frustration, familiarity, and pride wrapped into a big bundle of brotherly love. Alfred probably couldn't understand that someone could have such complex emotions, and the day when Al thinks his actions through will be the day that Hell freezes over. That's exactly the problem, though: Alfred never thinks!

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Stay tuned for three or so more chapters….Please know that not all moments will have happy endings—when I say self-harm and suicide is involved I mean it. Also, I was sort of brain dead when I wrote the conclusion paragraph, so I might rewrite it tomorrow. Tell me what you think please! I've never written a suicide fic before, so this is all still pretty new to me.


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